"You mean," said Biggs, "our excavations? I've been thinking about that, too. And it is beginning to make sense to me. You know my motto, Sparks: 'Get the theory first!' I think I've solved the theory, now. The only thing which still remains is to put it into practice. But that lake--" "You've solved it, Lanse, son?" broke in the Old Man eagerly. "Fine! Fine! I knew you wouldn't let us down. So what do we do?" "Well, we must ask McMurtrie to rig up a hydraulic drill, first of all. Then we must--" "Drill! To dig pumice? Son, you must be--" Biggs shuffled embarrassedly. "Well, it was only an idea, sir. Of course if you'd rather we can delve into the matter of that lake--" "Never mind," said the Old Man hastily. "The drill it is. Anything to get your mind off that damn lagoon, O.Q. Issue the orders, Sparks." So that was how we started boring instead of digging into the soil of Iris. And of course the shift of operations consumed still more of our ever-dwindling allotment of time. It took McMurtrie and his black gang a full day to rig up the hydraulic drill, and another day to set the cast so it would ram true. The next day we spent watching the diamondhead romp up and down in its casing, interrupting the steady _chug-chug!_ every once in a while so Lancelot Biggs, who was watching the operation with the care and feverish attention of a mamma duck, could study the bore-facing. He wiped his hand around the friction-heated facing and studied the granules. I craned over his shoulder and got a glimpse. I moaned. "No go, Lanse. That _still_ isn't pumice. I'm afraid Steichner wins. We've only got a little over one day to go, and it's no soap--hard _or_ soft!" * * * * * But there was no discouragement in the eyes of Biggs. Instead, he was muttering with a sort of satisfaction, "Just as I thought. First shale ... then slate ... then this diatomaceous conglomerate. It is phenomenal, but it must be so. Sparks--" He turned to me suddenly--"Call Earth! Tell the authorities to dispatch fighting units of the Space Patrol immediately--to protect our property!" "Our--?" "Hurry! There's no time to waste. And--warn them to be very careful in approaching this planetoid. They must make no attempt to land until we signal them the way is clear. Understand?" "Of--of course," I stammered. "You mean you think Steichner will pit up a scrap rather than let them in. But are you sure you know what you're doing, Lanse? After all, a handful of grit--" Biggs laughed triumphantly. "But what grit, Sparks! What grit! See those bits of whitish colored substance?" I looked again more closely at the powdery substance in the palm of his hand. I said, "Rock-measles?" "Fossils, Sparks!" "Fossils? But what have fossils got to do with--?" "I can't tell you now. There is too much to be done, I've got to go down, for one thing, and have a look at that artificial lake beside the governor's mansion."